One Plus One Equals One
by Cecelia S. Bradley
Summary: "But isn't that right? My daddy said that one and one made one!" Maybe, sometimes, they do. Oneshot.


You never would have expected him to be there.

You look down at your roster again. You hadn't looked at last names before; your eyes slide slowly down the page now. _Lily Carson. Patrick Danderfeld. Holly Hart. Katie Jewell. Sophie Jewell. Elsie Kabr—oh._ You can't believe that you missed that.

Slowly turning away from the wall, you put on an air of confidence and walk over to him. "Hey, Ian. I didn't know you were in Boston."

Ian looks at you for a second. "Good afternoon. And yes, I live here—I have for three months, now. Business and all of that...How was Elsie today?"

"Oh, she was excellent. Just perfect. And not many six-year-olds have that advanced of a vocabulary."

He smiles. "Yes, I was never fond of that 'baby language' mother seem to be so fond of coddling their children with." He stoops down, his red tie almost touching the ground, and he picks Elsie up, swinging her into his arms. You now notice how closely they resemble each other. _It must be because I haven't seen him in so long. Of course I would forget._

"If you don't mind signing Elsie out, Ian…" your voice trails off. He nods, eyes still on his daughter's face. And ten seconds later, he's out the door. The bell on the door tinkles, and then your classroom is silent.

You stare at the door. And then you slowly turn around and walk back to your desk at the back of the room. One parent's arrival shouldn't bother you that much. But it didn't, of course. Not really…

You have papers to grade. You asked all of your little first graders to write a few sentences on someone who really mattered to them. You pick up the first paper. "I love mi dad. He plas cach with me good." You sigh. You'll need to talk to Davie tomorrow.

You move on to the next paper, from Lily. "My dog is awsome. He fetches and jumps and plays very well. He's so cudly! I love to hug him in bed. My dog is a great dog." You smile and take out your red pen and write, _Excellent use of vocabulary! Very few spelling errors! Now I want to meet your dog!_ You add a sticker that reads "Super!" with a smiley face to the top left corner, then flip to the next paper.

You can't believe it.

It's a whole page long. Not that their little pages have many lines, but the essay still covers them all. _Elsie Kabra_ is written at the top corner. You begin reading.

_My dad. How can I say it? My dad loves me—he tells me so every morning and shows me so every day. Most people see him as cold and formal, and he is most of the time, but to me, that side of him is never there. I ca'nt count how many times I've found flowers on my pillow when I wake up, or how many times he's taken me for ice cream after scool. I love his stories about when he was younger and all the boys and girls that he met, about his travels, and about meeting my mom. My dad's like a completely diferent person around me. I love him so much._

You put the paper down slowly. You read it again. And you once again put down the paper. _What she said…_This girl truly had talent. If she could write so well at six, then she was incredible. _But what she said…_ She had used such advanced vocabulary, and hardly missed anything at all. _But what if what she said was true?_ It's funny how good you find it that Ian Kabra isn't the same as he used to be. But you shake it off and begin writing a comment for Elsie.

And so time goes on. A few weeks pass, and you accustom yourself to the idea of seeing him every day. You quickly find yourself laughing over how shocked you had been when you first saw him. Greetings are normal now.

"Good afternoon, Ian!"

"Hello. Was Elsie good today?"

"She was excellent. She's doing long division; can you believe it?"

"Of course…I was joking. Tell the teacher bye, Elsie!"

And time goes on.

You're grading a math worksheet one day that you gave your first graders—it had very simple problems, so you're not surprised that all the homework is perfect. Once you start grading Elsie's, though, that record changes. The first question on the worksheet is 1 + 1, and the answer she has written down is by no means correct. _1_. The remaining problems are all worked perfectly, but that one at the top…

You approach Elsie the next day in class. "Hey, Elsie? Can I ask you a question really quick?" She nods and comes over to your desk.

"Elsie, I know you're a very bright student and extraordinarily intelligent—" Elsie started beaming at you, "but you answered the first question on our worksheet wrong. Was it a careless mistake or something?"

Elsie looks at you worriedly. "Didn't I write 'one' as the answer?"

You nod.

"But isn't that right? That _is_ right. My daddy said that one and one made one!"

Now it's your turn to stare. You know Ian Kabra is ridiculously smart. "Are you sure you heard him correctly?"

"Yes, ma'am. He even explained it to me. He said that, in science, when two elements joined together, they make one compote. One."

"Compound, Elsie," you say, wondering that she even understands that much already.

"One compound. One element plus one element equals one compound. One plus one equals one."

"Yes, Elsie. But that's science—"

"It's not only science. Daddy told me that when a man and woman come together, like he and Mommy did, that they make one. One couple, one 'shared heart, shared love.' At least, I think that's what he said."

You're not sure how to answer that. You really aren't.

"That's true, Elsie. That's very true. But…but in math, one plus one always equals two. It's a special answer just for math."

Elsie nods her head slowly. "So one plus one is _two_ in math. That's funny. Was that a trick question?"

"Well, sort of."

"Goody! I love trick questions. Thank you, Ms. Cahill!"

You watch Elsie skip back to her seat. You never would have thought of an addition problem like that. Never. And her question stirs a question in you, too.

When Ian comes to pick up Elsie that afternoon, you ask it.

"Ian, I was wondering, why do I never get the privilege of seeing your wife here? Does she work?"

And then you watch as his eyes cloud and become distant. "Something like that. Besides, I enjoy being able to help when I can—at least, that is what I have been finding. Novelty hath charms, apparently."

He leaves hurriedly after that, but you start thinking. And next day in class, you call Elsie over to your desk again.

"Was there another trick question and I missed it?"

You shake your head. "No, Elsie. I just had a question for you. Your daddy said that your mom was busy pretty often. What does she do for a living?"

"Oh, she sings. She's in a beautiful choir."

A puzzled look finds its way onto your face. "She sings?"

Elsie looks at you sadly. "Daddy says she's a very good singer. I never got to hear her, though."

You don't hear anything after "got," though. The past tense stops you completely. "W-where does she sing, Elsie?"

"In Heaven. With a gigantic, beautiful choir."

You catch yourself before your mouth falls open. "O-oh, I s-see. Thank you for telling me." You can hear your voice crack, and you can tell she can hear it, too. Her head droops, and you immediately reach out to hug her. Elsie seems surprised at first, and she jerks away, but then she stops and lets you hug her.

"I'm so sorry," you whisper. She nods quickly and hurriedly walks back over to her seat. And you simply sit in your chair and think, something you seem to have been doing a lot recently.

After that, you find yourself thinking of Elsie differently. And Ian differently, too. You had been noticing that he had seemed…well, more human and less of a rich-and-snooty-and-formal-genius , but this completely explained it. And Ian _would_ hide that; he treasured his image of having everything perfectly.

So you keep thinking, because you can't stand to see a friend down. And a few days later, you stop Ian as he's leaving after dropping Elsie off in the morning.

"Ian? I had meant to ask you…" you let your voice trail off as he turns around. He raises an eyebrow. "I was wondering, since I really should have done this a _long_ time ago. Would you and Elsie like to come to my apartment for dinner one night?"

He frowns slightly, and you start hoping inside of your head. Hoping and hoping and—he interrupts your thoughts. "That would be fine. But I would just leave Elsie with one of her friends—she wouldn't have anything to do."

So October the fourth comes around, and you find yourself fixing your hair for the fourth time, all the while checking your chock to see how long it would be until he came. You look at yourself in the mirror and stop, though. "Amy, you're fine. Relax."

Just as the clock strikes six o'clock, your doorbell rings. Holding your ears (because you still haven't accustomed yourself to that grandfather clock the owner of the apartment insists you have to keep), you open the door. Ian comes in and immediately copies your action. "What is that _noise?_"

"Grumpa."

"Pardon me?" You smile as Ian's face portrays just how confused he is.

"Grumpa. It's a grandfather clock, but it makes me grumpy, so I call it that." You had never told anybody else that before.

"Ahh…I see. Is it almost done?"

As if on cue, the clock comes into its final note. "Yes, actually."

He sighs. "Thank goodness."

You lead him to the kitchen, and you both begin dinner. Small talk flows pleasantly along until you can't take it anymore. "Ian, you could have told me about your wife."

Nothing changes in his face as he continues eating. "I'm not quite sure what you're talking about. Would you horribly mind explaining?"

"Ian, your wife. Elsie told me."

He closes his eyes, and you can see his jaw clench. "How long has it been?"

"About a week."

"No wonder…" his voice fades.

"I'm so sorry, Ian. I hadn't even known you were married until Elsie started school. I'm really sorry."

Ian starts returning to his normal self. "No need to be. It happened two years ago."

"C-could you tell me about her, maybe? If it doesn't bother you, that is," you quickly add while refilling his glass of water. He takes it from you and holds it to his mouth.

"Her name was Elise—that's where my daughter's name is derived. She was very small, and she had brown hair and grey eyes. She taught kindergarten before we married. She was killed by a Vesper. The rest is inconsequential."

"But we had fixed the Vesper problem years ago!" _He has to be kidding_, you find yourself thinking._ He must be kidding_

"Apparently this man didn't think so. But he is in prison now. I put him there myself." A little bit of haughtiness, haughtiness you haven't heard since you last saw him when he was nineteen returns to his voice.

"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry. I can't believe that we missed him. I'm so, so—"

"It isn't your fault." Four words, but you're silenced immediately.

"I don't want it to become public knowledge," Ian continues, "because then all the girls of the town would be chasing me everywhere. Saying I'm married makes things that much simpler."

You smile, remembering how popular Ian had been. You still don't believe that's the only reason, though. "I won't tell anybody. But if you ever need to talk…"

Ian nods and stands up, says "I'm sorry to be leaving so early," and then walks out the door. You stare for a few seconds, then get up slowly and begin rinsing the dishes off. All the while, you're thinking though. _Small with grey eyes. She must have been pretty. Elise…really a pretty name, too. Ian must have loved her so much_. And then you feel a pang. You don't even know why.

You go into your bedroom and close the door behind you, pulling out your laptop. You quickly open your email and find Ian's email address on your computer, and you quickly click on "Compose Mail."

"Hi, Ian. This is Amy. I was just wondering, if you would be able to send me a picture of Elise, since I never got to meet her. If you don't mind, that is. Have a nice weekend! Amy"

You send it and close the lid of your laptop, and then open it right away. How could you have just done that? You were so stupid. That will probably hurt Ian so much. Clicking on "Compose Mail"

"Ian, I am so¸ so sorry about that. Don't mind me at all. Forget that I sent that. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. Amy"

Your stomach feels sick. You can't believe that you said that to him. You wish you could unsend your first email, start over again, not seem so nosy...Funny that you care so much.

You spend the entire weekend feeling like a mass murderer, berating yourself over and over again. Monday comes, and you almost don't show up to teach. You still go, though, inexplicably.

You show up ten minutes late for class, and the instant you walk in the door, Elsie runs at you with a manila envelope. "Ms. Cahill? My daddy said to give this to you." She thrusts the envelope into your hands, then goes back to her seat. After you set up the class for their math worksheet and apologize ten times for being late, you sit down at your desk and examine the envelope. Written in Ian's neat handwriting on the outside is, "Give to - your teacher." After puzzling over what he crossed out and realizing that that note was for Elsie, you turn it over and open it. A single picture falls out and lands face down on your desk. You slowly, tremblingly, hesitantly take a corner of the photo and turn it over.

A gasp comes from your lips.

_That's us_.

The picture isn't a picture of Elise. It's a picture of you and Ian standing at the top of the Eiffel Tower together, right after you defeated the Vespers in Paris, the last Vesper stronghold. Ian had requested that the two of you take that picture. "If you do not mind, Amy. Just to remember this occasion," he had said, and you had willingly agreed. And he still has that photo. You still have yours, too. You had tucked it in your wish box when you were nineteen, and you had never cleaned it out. But why did he give you this?

And, all of a sudden, you can feel a tear trickling down your cheek, and then another one, and then another one, and then you're crying, really crying, and then Lily's beside you asking if you're okay, and you shake your head and run out of the classroom and run out the doors of the building and run to where the big oak tree is outside, and you let yourself cry.

For a minute or so. And that entire time, your brain is asking you why you're crying over a picture and why it matters so much to you and why you even care. And you can't answer. You slowly stop crying though, and you compose yourself. You walk inside again, into the classroom, apologize quickly to your class and return to your seat. You can feel them looking at you questioningly, sadly, but you ignore it. You turn on your phone to text Ian, but he's already texted you.

"Amy, please do not open the envelope I sent with Elsie. I put the wrong picture inside. The one in there's more personal, and I don't care to share it right now, if you don't mind."

You slowly open your phone and begin replying.

"Ian, I just got your text. I already did. Can we talk later?"

You send it, then stand up and walk to the front of your classroom. "Alright, class. Let's practice our recitation." The children all stand up, and you all begin.

"Make New Friends

"Make new friends, But keep the old. One is silver, The other's gold.

"A circle is round, It has no end. That's how long I want to be your friend."

Some recite slowly and falteringly, others rattle it off so quickly you can't hear what they're saying, but you weren't listening anyway. You're actually laughing inside about how ironic it was you chose _this_ recitation to give them last week.

"Excellent work, class! Keep practicing so you can say it for me on Thursday! Now, for English today, we're going to study a noun. How many of you know what a noun is?"

And your days goes on until it's time for parents to pick up their children. After half an hour, all the children and their parents have left except for Elsie. She sits at a desk by the window, trying to work on her math problems, but looking up every ten seconds to see if her dad's come yet. Not that you can't understand, you're doing the same thing.

Finally, you both see his car parking outside. "He's here!" Elsie shouts, and races out the door. You don't try to stop her. You see Ian step out and swing his daughter up into his arms. He talks to her for a second, but you can't hear what he's saying through the window. Elsie nods her head, then slips into the car.

And Ian walks into your classroom.

He looks so haggard, but by the way he looks at you, you can tell you look the same way. You pull the picture out of the envelope and hand it to him. The room is silent for a few seconds. You count them. _One, two, three, four, five, six_—

"I didn't mean to give you that picture."

You try to say something back. "I-I figured as much. I'm sorry I didn't read my phone sooner."

"No, I suppose it was for the best. We really needed to talk about this."

And your heart stops.

"Amy, you know I loved Elise. I love Elise still. She was one of the most amazing women I will ever meet, I am certain. And when that Vesper killed her, my heart broke. And I didn't think I could fix it, ever."

You stare at Ian. Never before would he have told you any of this, put away his mask of perfection. Now his head is in his hands and he's breathing hard. And you realize you're doing the same thing.

"Elsie has been telling me about how amazing of a teacher you are, and how nice and kind and helpful and caring you are, and it's started me thinking. And, Amy, every time I pick her up and drop her off here, I see that, too."

You're turning red and you're breathing quickly and you sit down in a chair so you don't fall over.

"Amy, I love you."

And you start crying again.

"I never thought before that I would feel unworthy of anyone or anything, but I'm not good enough for you. I know that." He's looking at you now, and you can feel his words hitting you.

"Can we give it a chance?"

And you go into flashback mode. The Clue hunt and Korea and how he tried to kill you and how he broke your heart. How he stood up against his mother and started to change. How the two of you fought the Vespers together when all hope seemed lost and you didn't think you could ever trust anything again. How you won. Together.

Together.

You nod. "Yes, Ian. Yes. We can try."

Ian lets out a long breath. "Would you care to come on a date with me at some point, then?"

You nod again.

And then he stands up and you stand up and he's somehow right next to you and he takes your hand and squeezes it and presses into your hand and you can feel that warmth he's giving you and you can barely even think and you still barely hear him say, "I won't let you down this time."

You remember seventeen years ago when he did, but hearing his voice and feeling his hand right then, you believe him. So you keep holding on, and you wouldn't let go for anything.

And ten months later? One and one equal one.

_\/~/\~\/~/\~\/~_

**Okay, my first Amian romance. And it'll probably be my last in a while. I'm not sure if the second person works for this, and even though I made Ian softer on purpose because I thought that that might happen to him in the future, I might have made him **_**too**_** human. And yes, I **_**am**_** aware that there are some very long (but they're still not run-ons!) sentences at the end, but that was on purpose. And it might have moved too fast at times…I don't know.**

**Review if you want to. Thanks for reading!**


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